


Double Order of Thighs, Ink on the Side

by Bunnywest



Series: Thighs Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Night Stands, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Werewolf Reveal, it was meant to be porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter wants to give Stiles something special for his birthday, but he's at a loss - Stiles assures him he already has everything he could ever want.But an overheard conversation at the bar lets Peter know that's not quite true.And now, Peter knows exactly what he can do for his sweet boy.He's fairly sure a certain barman will be happy to play along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of [Something Powerful Between Your Thighs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014097/chapters/45154405) because I am weak for Stetopher. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'd be lying.  
> As always, written on the fly, unbetaed. I make no apologies for the inevitable typos that I'll probably spot sometime over the next week (or exactly thirty seconds after hitting the post button).

 

“Line  ‘em up, Chris!” Stiles waves his arm in a dramatic gesture that has him tilting dangerously close to the edge of his barstool. He struggles to right himself, letting out a low giggle. Scott, perched on the stool next to him, giggles as well.

They’re hammered.

But it’s Stiles’s birthday tomorrow, and Scott’s last night here, and it’s been a hell of a long time since Stiles let loose like this. It had been Peter who’d said, “Why don’t you take Scott to the bar tonight, sweetheart? I’ll drop you off and pick you up, so you don’t have to drive. I’ll even listen to you complain about your hangover and swear off tequila when you wake up tomorrow.”

Stiles had leapt at the chance.

He knows that Peter can tell he needs to wind down. Before Scott arrived, he’d asked Peter if they could, not _hide_ their dynamic exactly, but tone it down a little. “It’s not that I’m ashamed of what we have,” he’d told Peter seriously. “But you’re already a leather wearing, bike riding, older dude. If Scott sees me kneeling or hears me calling you Sir, he’s just as likely to think I’m your slave and try to kidnap me for my own safety.”

Peter had just smiled in understanding, taken Stiles’ kneeling pillow, and put it in their closet for the duration of the visit. He's gone out of his way to charm Scott because he knows it's important to Stiles, and he’s called Stiles _sweetheart_ and _love_ for the past six days, but not _baby,_ and definitely not _pet_.

And there hasn’t been any fun in-pants action (or out-of-pants-action for that matter) because Scott’s a light sleeper and Peter and Stiles are both incapable of quiet sex.

As a result, Stiles is feeling a little off kilter, a little high strung, and a lot horny. Which is probably why he finds his eyes straying over Chris’s form more than he usually does. He watches as Chris tilts the tequila bottle and pours more shots, lining up the salt and the lime wedges. His hands are broad and enticing. Fuck, he’s hot.

“Glad you think so,” Chris says with a wink and shit, Stiles did not realise he’d said that out loud. Stiles groans, and slaps a hand over his mouth.

 “It’s fine, kid. Anything said under the influence of tequila doesn’t count.” Chris grins and hands him the glass, before turning away and  moving to the other end of the bar, giving Stiles a great view of his ass.

“Besides, you’re _in luuuurve_ with Peter,” Scott slurs out helpfully.

“Yep. Definitely am. So _in luuurve_ ,” Stiles agrees. “But I’m not blind. I mean, look at those legs. They’d be able to wrap around you twice and still cross at the back.”

Scott’s face screws up as he tries to picture it. “I don’t think that’s possible. You’d need more knees,” he finally decides.

Stiles shoves his friend playfully. “Not the point, Scott. The man’s obj- object – he’s damned hot, is what I’m saying. If I didn’t have Peter, he’d be just my type.”

“But you do have Peter,” Scott points out with the absolute sincerity of the very drunk.

Stiles brightens at that. “I do! And he’s amazing.”

 “Did you know,” Stiles whisper-shouts, “Peter and Chris, they had a thing? Can you imagine?”

Scott holds up a hand and shakes his head. “I don’t need to know.” He slams back his shot and grimaces, whether at the taste or at Stiles’s tendency to overshare when drunk, Stiles isn’t sure.

Stiles casts a longing glance at Chris’s back. “God, can you imagine though? The two of them together? I’d pay to see that. Actual cash money. All those tattoos, all that stubble in one place… I would die a happy man,” he declares, and knocks back another shot.

“Well, I like Peter,” Scott states firmly. “You should keep him, forget bar guy.”

Stiles snorts. This is why he drinks with Scott – he gets so fucking _earnest_ , it’s hilarious. “I like Peter too, and I will keep him Scotty, I promise. But a guy can dream, okay?” He sighs wistfully. “Can’t have everything, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peter stands in the shadows near the door, listening. He’d come down to see if the boys were done yet, and it’s been enlightening, to say the least. He’d had to hold back a snarl when Stiles had called Chris hot, but then Stiles had declared himself _in luuurve_ , and Peter had felt something loosen in his chest, because he knows Stiles means it, alcohol or not. And the conversation about seeing him and Chris together sparked something in him, the seeds of an idea sprouting in his mind. He’s been stumped about what to get Stiles as a gift, since the boy didn’t want his own bike, claimed he’s happier on the back of Peter’s.

Chris knows Peter’s there of course, and Peter catches his eye. Their thoughts must be running in a similar vein, because Chris cocks a brow in a gesture Peter’s _intimately_ acquainted with. He raises a brow and gives a tiny nod in reply, and Chris shoots him a grin, waggles his hand in a _‘call me’_ gesture.

Peter listens to the boys ramble for a little longer, smirking to himself at Stiles’s slightly sorrowful declaration that he can’t have everything. Peter decides then and there that his boy deserves everything, and he’ll have it too, if Peter has any say in the matter.

He stays where he is, watching and waiting, till Stiles actually does fall off his stool. He swoops in and catches him, and Stiles beams at him drunkenly. “You saved me! Scott, Peter saved me! He’s the best, isn’t he the best? Take me home? We can fool around. But we gotta…” Stiles puts a finger to his lips and makes an exaggerated shushing noise.  “Scott can hear us otherwise. He’ll hear us _doing it.”_

Peter personally doesn’t think Stiles is capable of untying his shoes right now, but he just hoists Stiles up so he has an arm draped around Peter’s neck and tells him “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”  He turns to Scott, who’s resting his head on the bar. “Do I need to carry you too, Scott?”

Scott starts to shake his head, but when he tries to stand his legs don’t quite cooperate, so he slings an arm around Peter’s neck gratefully.  “You’re strong,” he marvels. ”You can carry two people!”

“So strong,” Stiles mumbles into Peter’s neck. “My big strong Sir.”

Scott’s head whips up at that, but Peter shoots him a warning look and Scott blinks, gives a grin, and clumsily mimes turning a key in front of his lips. Stiles won’t remember saying it, and Scott probably won’t remember hearing it. Chris looks over, his mouth quirked up in amusement. “They went pretty hard.”

Stiles nods in agreement. “Tequila. Was fun. Sleep now?”

Peter huffs out a soft laugh. “Yes, sweetheart. sleep.” He turns to Chris. “I’ll take them home. And I’ll definitely call you.”

“You do that.” Chris gives a blinding smile, all perfect teeth and sex appeal, and Peter thinks that yes, this will be the perfect gift for his boy.

If Peter happens to enjoy it as well, that’s just a bonus.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles wakes to a hand softly carding through his hair, and he can tell that Peter’s doing that thing where he makes all Stiles’s aches and pains disappear. Peter’s werewolf magic can’t take away the foul taste in his mouth, though, and as snippets of last night float back to him he lets out a whimper. “Was  - did I throw up?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Spectacularly and repeatedly,” Peter tells him, still stroking his hair, fingers slowly making their way to the back of his neck. “You and Scott took turns at one stage. I may have to put a rule in place forbidding tequila.”

Stiles turns his head and opens one eye, checking to see if he’s actually in trouble or if Peter’s teasing. “Sorry, Sir,” he says, just to be safe.

Peter gives him what can only be called an indulgent look. “It’s fine, baby, just this once. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Stiles snaps both eyes open at that. “Shit, I forgot!”

He sits up in bed and makes to grab Peter for a kiss but Peter wrinkles his nose. “Shower and teeth first, darling. And then we’ll go out for breakfast, take Scott to the airport, and afterwards we’ll talk about your present. I think I’ve found something you’ll like.”

Stiles perks up at that. “Oooh. What is it?”

Peter looks far too pleased with himself for this early in the morning. “It’s something we’ll discuss later. For now, go make yourself presentable. Shall I wake Scott or would you like to?”

Stiles grins widely. “I’ll do it.” Since he no longer has an alcohol induced headache, it makes it twice as satisfying when he throws open Scott’s bedroom door and flings himself at the bed in a crash tackle, shouting “ _Scottyscottyscotty! Its my birthday! Get up!”_ before grabbing Scott in a headlock and grinding a knuckle into the top of his head.

Scott responds by whining pitifully. _“Stiiiiles. Noooo.”_ He squirms out of the headlock and wraps his arms around his head to ward off further attack.

 “Don’t tell me you’re hungover? I feel great!” Stiles laughs, and punches Scott in the shoulder, because it’s his duty as Scott’s friend to make him suffer. He sees Peter watching from the doorway, and explains, “Time honored tradition. First one awake after a night out makes the other one suffer.”

“You suck,” Scott bleats, words muffled where he’s shoved his head under the pillow.

“Maybe, once you’re gone and if Peter’s in the mood,” Stiles agrees cheerfully. “But you gotta get up. You have to get to the airport.”

Scott makes a sound like a dying walrus, but he does move. Peter provides him with aspirin and a glass of water, and by the time they've had breakfast and dropped him at the airport, he’s mostly human again.

Stiles hugs him fondly, and Scott whispers in his ear. “I like this guy. You should keep him.”

The phrase rings a bell somewhere it the back of Stiles’s brain, something about last night, but he can’t pinpoint it, so he just murmurs back, “Yeah, I plan to.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’re barely back in their front door before Peter’s hooking his finger in Stiles’s choker in that possessive way of his and pulling him close. “I missed this, pet,” Peter breathes in his ear.  

Stiles can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. “Me too, Sir.”

Peter cradles Stiles’ head in his hands as he kisses him, slow and deep, taking his time. “Going to let me cover you in my scent baby, let me fill you up like a good boy?” Peter croons, and Stiles swears his knees actually go weak, his body slumping against Peter’s as he truly relaxes for the first time in days.

“Please, Sir,” he says, breathless. Six days is too long.

Peter scoops Stiles up in his arms and carries him into the bedroom, and they make up for lost time, and they make as much noise as they want.

It’s only hours later, when Stiles wakes up from his post – sex nap, ass aching deliciously, that he remembers. ”You were going to tell me about my present, Sir?” God, he’s missed the way his mouth wraps around that word.

Peter wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer.  “It’s not a gift, so much as an experience.”

“What, like hot air ballooning?” Stiles mumbles, enjoying the warmth and closeness.

Peter chuckles. “Not quite. But I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Well, what then?” Peter takes what seems like forever to answer, and Stiles’s curiosity is piqued now. “Sir?”

Peter’s tone is carefully casual when he says, “I overheard a very interesting conversation last night, sweetheart. between you and Scott. Concerning our favorite barkeep.”

Stiles stiffens at that as it all comes flooding back.

Oh god.

_Ohgodohgodohgod. Peter heard._

Peter heard, and now he’s probably jealous as hell, and Stiles is going to get his ass paddled, and not in the fun way. “Sir, I can explain. I was drunk –“

Peter places a gentle finger on Stiles’s lips. “Hush, pet. I’m not upset. In fact, I think it’s a wonderful idea. My question is, would you really want that? To invite Christopher into our bed for a night?”

Stiles’s mind stutters to a halt. “What?” Because Peter can’t possibly be suggesting what Stiles thinks he’s suggesting. Surely his wolf wouldn’t allow it. “What?” Stiles says again, because it's all he can come up with.

“Chris. In bed. With us. Would you like that?” Peter repeats patiently.

Stiles pulls out of Peter’s grip and sits up in bed, because he needs to be able to see Peter’s face right now. “I – it was a _drunken conversation_ , Peter.”

Peter smiles, sharp and hungry. “ _In vino veritas_ , as they say. You obviously like the idea on some level. And I’d have no objection. But it’s up to you.” Stiles’s heartbeat quickens and his pulse races at the thought. Peter must hear it, because his smile becomes almost predatory. “I thought so.”

“But your wolf –“

“Would have no problem, because I’d be inviting him to join us, so there would be permission given. Also, Christopher’s pack. In fact, he’s probably the only person I’d trust with this. _With you._ ”

 Stiles takes a moment to think about that. He turns the proposal over in his head as he plucks distractedly at his choker. “So, we’d invite him to join us for just a night?” he says slowly, feeling his way. “Would he even say yes?”

“Oh, I can almost guarantee it,” Peter says, and somehow Stiles knows that conversation’s already been had.

“Can I think about it?”

Peter’s expression softens. “Of course, pet. Take your time. But I will tell you this. Being with Christopher’s _quite_ the experience.”

Stiles’s head is spinning, full of questions. “Would we just turn up and see what happens, or could there be limits?” he asks quietly.

Peter lifts a hand and cradles Stiles’s cheek. “Whatever you want to happen, baby. It’s your birthday gift, after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles thinks about it for the rest of the day. He thinks about it as he skypes with his dad. He thinks about it all through the nice dinner Peter takes him out for. He thinks about it during the film they see, so much so that  afterwards he couldn’t begin to tell you what it was about.

It’s as they’re getting ready for bed that he says, ”If we did, I wouldn’t want him to fuck me. Only you get that.”

Peter looks decidedly pleased at that. “Of course, sweetheart.” He walks over to Stiles and presses himself against his back, head resting on Stiles’s shoulder, arms encircling him. “Shall I make the call?”

Stiles leans back into the touch. “Maybe let me give you an answer tomorrow, Sir?” Stiles has always found that if he sleeps on a decision he wakes with a much clearer idea of what to do.

Peter just nods as if it’s no big deal. “Of course, pet. Now, how about I get those new massage oils out, and spoil you some more?”  He’s already unbuttoning Stiles’s shirt as he speaks, and Stiles hums his agreement. By the time Peter’s massaged him from top to toe, he’s just a melty puddle of feelings and happiness, and he drifts off to sleep without consciously giving his decision another thought.

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles wakes up to a sticky mess on his belly from a dream featuring Peter whimpering as Chris fucks him tortuously slowly, he figures that’s his answer right there. He tells Peter that he wants to go ahead, and Peter’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins delightedly, chasing away any thoughts Stiles may have had about Peter not being totally on board.  “I’ll call him today, and we’ll talk.”

Chris comes over and they discuss it like adults, even if Stiles does feel like his face is so red it can be seen from space. They’re all pretty much on the same page, thankfully – Chris has no interest in stepping on any toes, and accepts Stiles’s stuttering clarification that his ass is off limits and that really, he’d just like to watch and see what happens from there, with an easy smile. “Anything for the birthday boy,” he says, before turning his keen gaze on Peter. “And what about you, wolf? Gonna let me in that nice, tight ass of yours?”

Peter tilts his chin as if considering it. “Perhaps, if you can convince me.”

Chris lets out a low chuckle, and Stiles finds it unfairly arousing. “Baby, just you wait. I’ll have you _begging._ ”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like it stated for the record that the credit/blame for the wording of Chris Argent's ass tattoo falls completely at the feet of [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/pseuds/DiscontentedWinter)

 

There aren’t many ground rules, when all's said and done, just these three.

Just for one night, Peter’s not anybody’s Sir -although Stiles might call him that,  he’s not in charge, and Stiles can take part as much or as little as he likes, on the understanding that since this is for him, he gets final say on anything that happens.

Condoms are optional, given that they’re all clean.

And most importantly, what happens at the hotel, stays at the hotel.

Stiles thinks the whole thing sounds a little bit terrifying, and a whole lot awesome, and the night before he’s so twitchy that it takes Peter making him come three times before he’s finally relaxed enough to pass out.

 

* * *

 

They arrange to meet at seven.

Of course, Peter insists they get there by 6.45. Stiles doesn’t argue, just figures it’s some weird alpha power play bullshit. Either that, or Peter’s desperate for Chris’s dick.

If it _is_ some alpha bullshit power move,  it fails miserably, because when they get to the hotel room Chris is already there, one arm thrown along the back of the couch, beer in hand, and long legs crossed at the ankles, as if he’s been there for hours. He tips the beer at them and grins. “What can I say? I’m ready for a good time.”

Stiles gets that – he’s thought of nothing else for the past two days if he’s honest, and his anticipation levels are ratcheted up to eleven. Chris stands, slow and casual, and it’s hypnotizing, watching the sheer length of the man unfold as he stands. Stiles is struck anew by how attractive Chris is, and wonders how he got this lucky. He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because then Peter’s hands are on his hips, turning him so they’re facing. Peter places a palm on each cheek, his eyes scanning Stiles’s face for any sign of doubt as he asks, “You’re sure, pet?”

Stiles is excited and nervous all at once, and he loves that his Sir cares enough to check. Wanting to reassure Peter once and for all, Stiles takes Peter’s hand and places it over his heart. Stiles leans in and says quietly, “I don’t want this.” It’s a total and utter lie, and he knows his heartbeat will reflect that. It’s a gesture he’s used before, an inside joke, a throwback to their early days, so he knows Peter will accept it as truth.

Peter smirks. “You know what I heard just then, pet? Your heart speeding up slightly over the words _I don’t want_.” And then Peter pulls him in for a kiss, hot and hungry, and Stiles can tell it’s partly because he’s turned on, but partly a demonstration of ownership. Stiles goes with it, something in him preening at Peter’s possessiveness – they’re here with Chris, but he belongs to Sir.

* * *

 

 

Peter takes Stiles by the hand and leads him over to the bed, giving him a playful shove so he lands on his back. “Since this is your birthday present, how about I make you feel good first, sweetheart, spoil you a little?”

Stiles is aware of the bed moving as a weight lands next to him, and he looks over to see Chris sitting on the edge of the bed, peeling off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. “Gonna show me how good you are for Sir?” he asks, his voice rough with want. Stiles nods wordlessly. Chris grins, an expression of anticipation on his face.  “You like it when people watch, Stiles?” and Stiles has never really thought about it, but right here, right now, with people he trusts? He thinks the answer’s definitely yes.

Peter straddles Stiles’s waist, and strips his own shirt off. “Would you like me to blow you, pet?” His hands are already working the button on Stiles’s jeans open. “Let Christopher hear those pretty noises you make, let him see how you fall apart for me?”

All Stiles can think is _this isn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to watch._ But then Peter’s lifting his hips and sliding his jeans and underwear off him, and there are hands on his already hard cock, followed by Peter’s sinful mouth, doing all the things he knows Stiles likes best, and Stiles can only whimper, curl his fingers into the bedding, and hang on for dear life.

Peter suckles and slurps and teases, holding his legs apart with the width of his shoulders, and Stiles can’t stop the whimpers that escape him. He’s vaguely aware of Chris making admiring sounds next to him, calling him pretty,  but he’s too distracted to give it much attention. Peter rolls his balls and tugs lightly, making Stiles keen, and then he _takes his mouth away._ It’s all Stiles can do to sob out, “ _Sir! Don’t tease!”_

Peter lets out a throaty chuckle. “Not teasing, sweetheart. I just thought Christopher might like a taste.” Peter rolls to the side, and Chris takes his place between Stiles’s legs.

Stiles makes a needy sound, and then there’s another mouth encasing his cock, and it’s strange, but it’s good. The movements are just different enough from what he’s used to to make it thrilling, the hands splayed across his belly broad and reassuring in their strength, and it’s bliss. Stiles lets his eyes close and reaches down and tangles one hand in Chris’s hair, his hips bucking of their own accord and setting a rhythm, pressing up into the waiting heat. He can tell this won’t take long, and he moans out something to that effect. Chris hums, and takes him a little deeper. When he reaches one hand up and tugs and twists at Stiles’s nipple, that’s all it takes. Stiles groans long and loud as he comes, and he doesn’t even care when he hears Chris let out a low laugh.

“Peter was right, baby boy. You’re gorgeous when you come. Such a good boy. He’s a lucky Sir.”

“Mmmm.” Peter hums in agreement. “He’s very good for me, aren’t you, pet.”

Stiles opens his eyes, can feel the dopey smile on his face. Peter’s praising him and Chris is praising him and all he’s done is lay here and get his dick sucked. This is already the best birthday gift ever. “Relaxed now, sweetheart?” Peter crawls up the bed and kisses him, traces of salt and precome on his tongue.

Stiles lets out a breathy laugh once the kiss breaks. “Thought I was gonna be watching?” He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, all his nervousness gone.

“Oh, you are, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean we won’t take care of you as well,” Peter croons. Chris climbs off the bed and strips completely, and Stiles is stunned into silence when he takes in the man’s body. He knew he was fit, but seeing it all at once like this is a thing of beauty. The people who call the Mona Lisa great art, he thinks, have never seen the Naked Argent.

Chris is muscled and tanned, long and lean and covered in tattoos in places Stiles would never have dreamed of. He has a pair of pistols, one on each side of the vee of his hips. He has writing running along his ribs.

And when he turns around, Stiles sees that he has a tattoo on his left asscheek, a tiny curling line of script that says **_Daddy’s in charge._  **

It’s so incongruous, that Stiles can’t help but stare. He wants to ask, but before he can say a word Peter bursts out, _“You changed it!”_

At Peter’s scowl, Stiles has to know. “Changed what?”

“Christopher lost a bet. And now he’s clearly breached the terms of that bet.” Peter’s honest to god pouting.

Chris gives a nonchalant shrug when Stiles gives him a questioning look. “Don’t play poker with cheaterwolves, kid.” Then he turns and gives Peter the biggest shit eating grin Stiles has ever seen. “I stuck to the terms of the bet just fine. You said my left cheek had to say _Daddy’s_. You never said I couldn’t add to it later.”

“It’s against the spirit of the thing. It’s unsporting,” Peter grumbles.

Chris looks supremely unrepentant. “Unsporting was you _cheating_ when we played, so you don’t get to bitch.  Besides, I can’t say I expected you to see my ass again.”  

Stiles listens to the two of them snipe back and forth, amused. He can absolutely see why they’d never, ever work as a couple. They’re the living, breathing definition of an irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Stubborn assholes, the pair of them.  Stubborn, attractive assholes, who aren’t currently paying Stiles any attention. He can’t help but feel that seems wrong.

But he’s pretty sure he knows how to fix it. He slides out of bed, steps up close to Chris, and runs his hands down his flanks in one long stroke. “Well I think it’s a great ass, whatever it says,” he murmurs, and with a courage he doesn’t quite feel, he leans in for a kiss.

Chris’s eyes flick over to Peter for just a second and then he’s responding, his lips parting under Stiles’s, letting him slip his tongue inside. Chris tastes like beer and sex, and it’s intoxicating in ways Stiles didn’t expect. Stiles chases after more, tilting his head and closing his eyes so he can savor this properly. He hears Peter’s breath hitch behind him, and for a brief moment he wonders if he’s done the wrong thing, but then Peter’s draped along his back, and Stiles hears the clink of a belt, the shiff of fabric as Peter sheds his jeans and presses against him, hard and hot and familiar. He hums as he places delicate kisses down the back of Stiles’s neck, and once again Stiles thinks _This wasn’t the plan_ , but right now, sandwiched between a daddy and a sir, he really can’t bring himself to care.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a brief moment when Stiles thinks it’s all going to go horribly wrong.

They’ve moved over to the bed and Stiles is lying on his side, leaning on one elbow facing Chris. Chris reaches over and hooks a finger under his choker in order to pull him closer, but as soon as he touches it Peter lets out a deep growl and his eyes blaze red. He slaps Chris’s hand away and spits out, _“Not that.”_

Chris pulls away as if burned, and Stiles freezes in place, holds his breath. But then Chris holds his hands out, palm up, towards Peter. “My bad. I should have known. Sorry.”  

He dips his head in submission, not making eye contact, and after a few seconds, Peter gives a strained nod. “Apology accepted.”  And then he hooks his finger under Stiles’s choker and drags him back towards himself. Stiles goes willingly, lets Peter pull him close and suck a bruise into his throat, teeth scraping and making him shudder with sheer pleasure. When Peter pulls away, the tension’s eased from his face, so Stiles guesses his wolf’s been appeased, and the crisis averted.

That’s confirmed when Chris leans across and grabs Peter round the waist, then rolls him back to the other side of the bed. Peter lets out a delighted laugh, and Chris mock growls before pinning him down and kissing him soundly.  Stiles watches, entranced - his fantasies are coming to life before his eyes, and he is _here for that_. “We good?” Chris asks when they finally part.

“I suppose. I should paddle your ass for the sheer cheek of it, though,” Peter says, and Stiles doesn’t imagine the twinkle in Peter’s eye when he says it.

Chris just laughs. “The only one who’s getting a sore ass tonight is you, and that’s because I plan to stretch you out and fill you up, the way you like it.”

Stiles whines, the noise escaping him without warning. Both men whip their heads around and look at him, and he can’t help blushing. Peter arches a brow. “Would you like that, pet? For us to put on a show for you?”

 _“Pleasesiryes.”_  The words leave him in a rush, and Peter gives him an indulgent smile.

“You heard the man, Christopher.” Peter rolls them so he’s on top of Chris. “I think I’ll ride you.”

Before Stiles can even blink, Chris is surging up, grabbing Peter, and shoving him face first into the pillows, one big hand clamped on the back of his neck, holding him down. “You don’t get to call the shots, _pup_ ,” Chris growls out, breathing heavily. He has one knee on either side of Peter’s hips, and even though Stiles knows Peter could easily throw Chris off, he suspects that physical strength has nothing to do with it.

Peter squirms and huffs, but he makes no effort to get away, and it’s clearly just for show, because he’s grinning from ear to ear. Chris keeps his hand clamped in place, also grinning, and says, “So tell me Stiles, you wanna help me out here, or you just wanna watch?”

Stiles looks at the two of them, and decides that since this is a once off, he may as well go all out. “I’ll help. What do you want me to do?”

Chris hums. “First off, grab the lube out of my jacket pocket, and the other thing in there.”

“Other thing?” Peter’s voice is muffled.

“Yeah. Other thing,” Chris says, using the  hand on the back of Peter’s neck to steer him, sitting him upright. “The thing you like.”

“The thing I - oh!” Peter looks immensely pleased, which causes Stiles to hurry over to Chris’s jacket, burning with curiosity. He finds lube, and a pair of metal clips with a chain connecting them. “Are these…”

“Nipple clamps,” Peter says with a gleam in his eye. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Christopher.”

Chris leans himself against the headboard, legs spread wide, and pulls Peter into the vee, kneeling back to chest, Peter’s hands behind his back. Chris holds out his hand and clicks his fingers impatiently, and Stiles hands him the clamps. Chris spends some time flicking his thumbs over Peter’s nubs, teasing and pinching at them until they’re peaked and hard. Stiles hears the way Peter gasps, how his breath hitches.

“Watch baby, see how your sir likes this,” Chris says with a chuckle, holding the first clip open and brushing the points over Peter’s nipple for what seems like forever before letting it snap closed. Peter’s body arches back and forth, as if he can’t decide if he wants to escape the feeling or chase more. He finally stills, hissing between his teeth and panting, and that’s when Chris clips the other one on.  Peter bucks and swears and thrashes, but Chris just laughs. “Look at you, carrying on like a scalded cat, acting like you don’t love this.” Chris nods at Stiles, eyebrow raised in invitation. “You wanna tease him a little?”

Stiles bites his lip and his hand creeps out and touches the chain. He glances up at Peter, checking that this is really okay, but from the look on Peter’s face he’s clearly enjoying every second, mouth hanging open and pupils blown wide. “Go ahead, pet,” Peter manages to pant out. So Stiles tugs sharply on the chain, and something that’s almost a howl escapes Peter’s throat. He writhes in Chris’s grip, but Stiles can’t help but notice that Peter’s cock is red and straining. Fascinated, he tugs the chain twice more, and each time Peter’s dick throbs. Huh.

“You like that, Sir?” he asks, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “Want more?”

Something that might be a _yes_ makes it out of Peter’s mouth, so Stiles twists and pulls the clamps and is rewarded with a keening sound and more struggling. Chris holds Peter in place, and Stiles spends some time getting Peter to make more of those awesome noises.

Stiles enjoys every minute of it, and thinks that maybe later he’ll play some more, but right now he’s distracted by Peter’s nice thick cock, hard and leaking. He kinda wants to get his mouth on it, wants Chris to hold Peter there whiles Stiles takes his fill. So he does. He drops the chain, kneels between Peter’s legs, and slowly takes just the head in his mouth. He suckles gently, running his tongue over the slit and tasting precome, and Peter actually whimpers. It’s a heady feeling, to cause that. He hears Chris murmuring, and glances up to see him nuzzling behind Peter’s ear, in that one spot that always makes Peter shiver.

Stiles wonders how often the ‘time or two’ these two shared actually was, because it took Stiles two months to find that particular spot, but dismisses the thought in favor of taking Peter apart. He makes sure to blow him just this side of too slow  – enough to tease, but not to finish. Peter’s hips twitch forwards as he chases more, and Stiles pulls off.  Peter huffs in frustration.

“Wanna flip him over? I can, y’know.” Stiles picks up the lube and waves it vaguely. This is new territory for him – he’s never actually fingered anyone open before, but he’s had it done to him plenty, and he’s watched enough porn, so he figures it can’t be that hard.

Heh. Hard.

Like he is right now.

The sight of Peter in Chris’s grip is doing things to Stiles, pants related things, and he’s got a pretty impressive boner happening. When Chris manoeuvres Peter over onto his hands and knees, Stiles has a moment where he wonders if maybe he’d like to actually sink his dick inside that ass, but the thought leaves as quickly as it arrived. Stiles knows what he likes, and that isn’t it.

His hands, though. That’s different.

He slicks his fingers and teases Peter’s rim until he feels it start to relax, and sinks one finger in as far as he can. Peter lets out a groan like he’s been punched and Stiles stills, but Peter gasps out, “That’s it, baby,” so Stiles slides the finger in and out of the tight heat. It’s like Peter’s trying to draw him in, the hot clutch of his insides unlike anything Stiles has ever felt before. He suddenly understands how it is that Peter can take so long preparing Stiles when he fucks him, why he never wants to hurry. This is _incredible._

He must have said that out loud, because Peter laughs breathlessly and says, “Glad you approve, darling,” and rocks back onto his finger.

Chris puts a hand under Peter’s chin and lifts it so he can look him in the eye. “Something better you could be doing with that mouth, pup?” Chris indicates his own erection, and with a hand tangled in Peter’s hair, guides his head down again.

Stiles doesn’t need to see Peter’s eyeroll to know what he’s doing, he can read it from way Peter’s head tilts. As if in confirmation, Chris leans over and slaps Peter’s ass sharply, a solid crack that echoes through the room. “Watch the attitude. Now do I need to give you another, or are you gonna get that mouth where it needs to be?” 

Stiles sees Peter shake his head, although he huffs out a laugh before his head bobs down and Stiles hears the wet sound of mouth on cock. It changes the angle of Peter’s ass, opens him up more, so Stiles adds a second finger, causing Peter to freeze for just a second before his head starts moving again. Stiles twists his hand around, searching, pressing in further, watching the way the soft pucker opens round his fingers. It’s hypnotic. He crooks his fingers forward when he thinks he’s found the right spot, and can’t help feeling smug when Peter yelps around Chris’s cock and jerks back against his hand. Jackpot.

“You’re a natural, sweetheart,” Chris chuckles. “Make sure you open him up wide for me, I take up a lot of room.”

He’s not exaggerating. Chris is, in a word, hung. Stiles won’t lie – when he first saw Chris’s dick, he’d been quietly thankful that his ass was off limits, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take all that and enjoy it. But apparently Peter can, and Peter has. Stiles is looking forwards to seeing it.  With that in mind, he adds a third finger, and quickly works it in. Peter isn’t expecting him to add the fourth, if his muffled squawks are anything to go by. Chris distracts him by tugging on the chain between his nipples, and it’s enough that Peter pulls off Chris to snap, ”For the love of god, are you _ever_ going to fuck me?”

Stiles half expects Chris to slap Peter’s ass again, but he just grins and says, “Knew I could make you beg.”

Stiles gives Chris a disbelieving look. “ _That’s_ begging?”

Chris just laughs. “It is for Peter.”

Chris gives Stiles a nod and he withdraws his hand and moves to make room, transfixed by how open Peter is now. Chris wastes no time, just flips Peter onto his back, drags his legs up and over his shoulders, and sinks in bare in one long stroke. Peter gives a sigh of pleasure, and Chris makes a similar sound. Stiles watches on from his side of the bed, feeling like a giant perv and giving no fucks, because this is beyond beautiful. Two muscled, gorgeous, tattooed men are right here in bed with him, one of them fucking the other brainless, and it’s art, there’s no other word for it. Stiles adds more lube to his palm and strokes himself as he watches, entranced.

Chris is holding nothing back, Stiles can tell, thighs flexing with every snap of his hips. There’s no finesse to this, it’s sheer power and muscle. Peter doesn’t seem to mind though. His arms are cast back loosely over his head, and he’s limp and pliant. Peter’s panting out tiny _unh unh_ sounds every time Chris drives forward, his body rocking under the force of it. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes closed, and he looks completely blissed out. Stiles wonders if this what he looks like when Peter fucks him.

He hopes so, because it’s stunning.

Stiles can’t help but lean in and catch Peter’s mouth with his, swallowing all the little sounds he’s making, the breaths that are forced out of him with every thrust. Peter’s hand comes down and tangles in Stiles’s hair, holding him in place as Peter kisses him back greedily.

Stiles lets go of his cock so he can let his hands roam down Peter’s sides, tracing the familiar ink there, feeling the movement of muscles under skin.  He pulls back from the kiss and looks down to see Peter gazing at him glassy eyed, and Stiles knows that look, knows Peter’s close. He wraps one still-slick hand around Peter’s cock and starts to work it steadily, then grabs the chain between Peter’s nipples and gives it a sharp tug, and that’s all it takes for Peter to come with a moan, thrusting into Stiles’s hand as he spurts onto his belly.

Chris lets out a deep, guttural groan, before ramming home once, twice, and stilling as shudders wrack his body. Stiles’s own cock throbs at the sight, his arousal suddenly burning and desperate, and who knew he was such a fucking voyeur? He moves quickly, wrapping a hand around his dick, stroking himself to completion. He comes faster than he thought possible. Stiles’s orgasm hits him like a freight train and his come hits Peter’s skin - marking him, claiming him. Stiles pants harshly for a moment, before falling back against the pillows.

Peter’s legs slip down from Chris’s shoulders in a kind of a messy sprawl, and Chris slumps forwards, breathing heavily. There’s silence for a minute, before Stiles gets out, “Holy fuck. I mean, _holy fuck._ ”

Peter lets out a breathless chuckle. Stiles recognizes that particular laugh. It’s the kind of satisfied sound that only comes from a good, hard fuck. Chris moves then, pulling out slowly, and Peter hisses between his teeth. Stiles knows that feeling, the sudden emptiness, so he gently trails a fingertip down the side of Peter’s throat as a distraction. Chris flops down on Peter’s other side, hand splaying over his come covered belly. “Just as good as ever, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and Peter gives him a sweet, fucked-out smile.

Stiles waits for a stab of jealousy, because there’s deep affection in that glance, but it doesn’t come. He knows this is a one time thing, that they’ve done this for him. They’ve all enjoyed it, sure, but at the end of the day, it’s skin and bodies, that’s all. His thoughts are confirmed when Peter hooks a finger under his pendant and drags him close, his eyes searching Stiles’ face. “Was it what you wanted, sweet boy?” he asks quietly, and Stiles nods, and leans closer for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s napping, and then Peter declares that turn about’s fair play, and Stiles gets to use his hands to open _Chris_ up, and that’s just as incredible as it was with Peter, especially since Chris actually does beg properly when Stiles teases his prostate. Peter fucks him fast and rough, and Chris comes in about a minute flat.

It’s hot as hell.

Later, while Chris is dozing, Peter rocks into Stiles slow and lazy as they lay on their sides, barely moving, just rolling his hips gently as Stiles moans and presses back, his arousal building and building, seemingly taking forever to peak before overwhelming him in a slow wave when Peter whispers, “Come for me, pet.”

Then there’s more sleep, and then there are pre-dawn handjobs because Chris says Stiles’s dick is so pretty, can he touch, and who can say no to that? Finally though, Stiles just can’t anymore. He shakes his head, and declares, “I’m done.”

The two men bracket him, Peter at his back with a possessive arm around him, and Stiles passes out till morning.

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles wakes, he’s unbearably warm. It only takes a second to figure out why. Sometime during the night, Chris has migrated closer, and now he has a leg thrown over Stiles and his face is pressed into the crook of Stiles’s neck, his stubble scraping pleasantly on the soft skin there. Stiles could move him he guesses, but it feels kinda nice, being in the middle like this. Eventually though, his bladder stages a protest, so he peels Chris’s long limbs off him and shimmies out of bed. They went to sleep without cleaning up, so Stiles is a mess. He wrinkles his nose at the state of himself and decides a shower’s in order.

He lets the hot water flow over him as he thinks about what just happened. They actually had a threesome. Peter loves him enough that he listened to Stiles’s drunken rambled fantasies and made it happen. Oh, he doesn’t doubt for a minute that Peter had a good time, but the fact remains that an alpha werewolf _let another person_ _into their bed_ , and he did it for Stiles.

It’s overwhelming.

As if summoned by a thought, the shower screen opens and Peter slides his body up behind Stiles, murmuring, “Good morning, pet.” His hands slide around Stiles’ waist, holding him, then Peter turns him and kisses him gently.

His lips are soft, his touches sweet, as if he thinks Stiles is fragile, precious, and when Stiles opens his eyes from the kiss Peter’s gazing at him with something that can only be called worship. Stiles pulls back, and the words spill out, unbidden.  “I love you. Marry me?”

Peter cocks a brow, and for a split second Stiles wants to take it back, pass it off as a joke, but then Peter’s face breaks into a wide smile as he backs Stiles  up against the wall of the shower, eyes bright, and breathes in his ear, “Name the date, sweetheart.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops? I swear, I was as surprised as you guys.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's inevitable, now that they're engaged, that Stiles will have to tell his Dad about Peter's furry little secret.  
> It doesn't quite go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! A wild chapter appears!  
> I promise, it's not completely out of the blue.  
> Well I mean it is, but I have Reasons for posting it.  
> Mainly, I've written some things for Kinktober, and they're set in this 'verse. So to prepare for those, you get this!

 

 

When they finally emerge from the shower half an hour later grinning and Stiles tells Chris that he proposed, Chris laughs so hard he falls over sideways on the bed, cackling like a loon. Stiles is slightly insulted at first, but it all becomes clear when, wiping tears from his eyes, a still snickering Chris reveals that Peter’s had a ring  hidden away for the last month, he's just been waiting for the _perfect moment_ , and Stiles has somehow, once again, beaten him to the punch. Stiles just grins and smothers Peter in kisses, declaring him the best fiancé ever.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s inevitable that they’ll need to tell Stiles’s father about werewolves, so they arrange to drive down for the weekend. When they get there John hugs them both roughly, and Stiles takes an unholy glee in watching his father scruff Peter’s hair and call him “my other kid.”  Peter takes it in his stride though, which Stiles appreciates, because he’s nervous as all hell about this. He’s terrified his dad will freak out, despite Peter assuring him that most people are surprisingly fine with it, and using Stiles’s own reaction as an example.

They sit down around the kitchen table, and Stiles tries to keep his breathing steady. Peter squeezes his knee under the table and starts out by saying, “Sheriff, before we’re married, I feel it’s important that you know about my family history.”

Stiles holds his breath and clutches at Peter's hand, praying it doesn't all go to hell.

John looks Peter in the eyes and drawls, "That so? Got a deep dark secret? Not a Trump supporter are you?"

Peter looks so scandalized at the thought that Stiles has to bite his lips to keep from laughing. "No, not that. It's... my family has a rare genetic condition," Peter says carefully.

John lifts an eyebrow, heaves a sigh, and asks, ”Is this where you tell me you’re a Werewolf and I act surprised? Cause I gotta tell ya, that's yesterday's news, _Alpha._ ”

Peter’s mouth drops open and he stares at John, who’s smirking. “Who – how – “ he stutters out. He turns to Stiles. "You didn't-?"

Stiles shakes his head furiously. He has no idea how his father found out. "Dad?"

John shrugs. “A man can only investigate so many animal attacks and mysterious sightings before he starts to join the dots, y’know?”

“Wait, you just _figured it out?_ ” Stiles’s voice squeaks, eyes wide.

"What, you don't think your old man's clever enough?" John challenges, but when he sees their stunned looks he  takes pity on them. “Honestly? I checked on the local vet clinic one night because the lights were blazing, and I walked in on Doc Deaton digging a bullet out of some kid who sure as hell wasn’t human. They had no choice but to fill me in. Over time, I got to know some of the local Weres, got to know their tells, y’know?” He nods at Peter. “Figured out what you were the first time I met you. That's a hell of an Alpha swagger you've got there, son.”

Peter’s recovered from his initial surprise. “Since you already know and you haven't mentioned it before now, I trust it’s not a problem?”

John shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “As long as I have your word that you’ll never force Stiles to take the bite.”

Peter’s brows arch. “I would never. The bite is a _gift._ ”

“Then I don’t see us having an issue.”

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and walks over to his dad, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug and whispering,"Thank you."

John slaps him on the back. "If the older man thing and the biker thing didn't throw me, the werewolf thing sure as hell isn't going to." Which is fair, Stiles supposes.

It’s later that John pulls Peter aside while Stiles is taking the bags upstairs. “Should I ask if you know anything about that shitshow with his roommate, the one who _accidentally_ kneecapped himself?”

Peter doesn’t flinch under John’s questioning. “Probably best if you don’t.”

John holds Peter’s gaze, and then gives a terse nod. “You’ll do. Welcome to the family.”

 

 


End file.
